


The Eleventh Year

by OMGitsgreen



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: 1930s, But totally were, Canon Compliant, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Extramarital Affairs, F/M, Gen, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Hades is kind of a dork, Mama di Angelo is a serious badass, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, World War II
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 08:46:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7163297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMGitsgreen/pseuds/OMGitsgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“And I cannot give you anything else?” Hades asked, his finger curled beneath her chin.<br/>“You are already married,” Maria reminded him gently as she touched his wrist, and his eyes softened. He leaned down to kiss her cheek like the gentlest touch of breeze, his hand running through her hair and to the clasp of the necklace he had given her.  </p><p>Maria di Angelo, daughter of an Italian ambassador and painter, meets Hades, the lord of the dead, and begins a long-term affair with him. However with World War 2 on the horizon and the people she loves in danger, Maria has to grapple with choices that pit her against her greatest love with more than just love on the line.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cheek to Cheek

**Author's Note:**

> So because I’m sort of insatiably curious about what sort of humans could make gods fall in love, here’s my take on the romance between Hades and Maria di Angelo and how Nico and Bianca came to be. Not that I’m sure anyone would want to read this, but hey, maybe someone out there is as curious as I am. Because of how I am framing the piece, I’m expecting this to take two to three chapters based on however many years I can get in without feeling rushed.
> 
> Also, if anyone is confused at why Hades is visiting Maria in the winter, there's a very specific reason for that. It'll be explained next chapter lol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I cannot give you anything else?” Hades asked, his finger curled beneath her chin.  
> “You are already married,” Maria reminded him gently as she touched his wrist, and his eyes softened. He leaned down to kiss her cheek like the gentlest touch of breeze, his hand running through her hair and to the clasp of the necklace he had given her.
> 
> Maria di Angelo, daughter of an Italian ambassador and painter, meets Hades, the lord of the dead, and begins a long-term affair with him. However with World War 2 on the horizon and the people she loves in danger, Maria has to grapple with choices that pit her against her greatest love with more than just love on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So because I’m sort of insatiably curious about what sort of humans could make gods fall in love, here’s my take on the romance between Hades and Maria di Angelo and how Nico and Bianca came to be. Not that I’m sure anyone would want to read this, but hey, maybe someone out there is as curious as I am. Because of how I am framing the piece, I’m expecting this to take two to three chapters based on however many years I can get in without feeling rushed.
> 
> Also, if anyone is confused at why Hades is visiting Maria in the winter, there's a very specific reason for that. It'll be explained next chapter lol

As a child, Maria saw marvelous things and terrible things.

Often, her parents told her she was blessed by a wondrous imagination. After all, seeing brilliant mares the color of ivory and wings which caught the light in a rainbow fly across the sky, or glimpsing at a man who shifted between human and lightning-clouds, or describing evanescent women sheens of brilliant green who giggled amongst vineyard rows was precious and wonderful to her parents. Her terror at instances of watching a large one-eyed man nearly rip through an alley way, or seeing bovines with razor teeth ripping apart a kill were her parents annoyance. But she was their only girl and child, her parents’ princess, and her father was an important and influential man. They could afford to humor her with brushes and expensive paints, and allow her to dabble in this wondrous imagination of hers.

At some point along however, Maria realized that the flashes of beauty and the glimpses of horror were not her imagination. She could see things that others could not, as if a veil was lifted before her eyes.

This did not bother Maria, after all, everyone was gifted in different ways. She learned to live with it, taught herself the right times to look and the right times to ignore. With the war ongoing, that was an extremely valuable lesson. And she painted still, her outlet the arts which filled the time as her father’s phone calls became more panicked and the tenseness of the silence in their house after her mother’s death stretched on tautly for seemingly an eternity. 

And then she met him, and everything changed.

* * *

The art gallery event was populated by Washington D.C.’s finest denizens, those still left rich despite the decay of the city. She minded the small talk carefully, accepting their easy compliments of her latest piece which hung in one of the rooms, smoothing over her accent whenever she could. However, the moment she saw she could steal away she did. Entering an occupied room full of paintings, she made her way through deliberately. There was only one man in the room, who stood quietly and did not acknowledge her, and he was gazing at her painting. This was what caught her attention initially. The first thing she noticed was his impeccable craftsmanship of his suit. Extremely well fit with almost military precision, a beautiful grey tweed, double-breasted lapels, and buttons which had to be silver. Underneath he wore a black silk shirt which matched his handkerchief, black tie, and black knitted waist coat. When she looked up to glimpse at his face, her breath caught. He was a perfect study of chiaroscuro with a pale face made of highborn edges and an aristocratic mouth contrasted with eyes as dark as night and black hair shorn close at the side and slicked over the top. Perhaps her gaze lingered too long because before long she realized she was meeting his eyes.

She turned her mind and eyes quickly towards the art in the room. One such piece held her attention the longest, austere and dry, an industrial landscape rendered empty and void.

“Do you like it?”

The voice made Maria jump and almost spill her drink. It was the man in the gorgeous suit, closing the gap between them in purposeful strides.

“I am not sure,” Maria told him honestly, continuing to study him as she lifted her glass and took a sip of her drink to calm her nerves. “Is what is shown in the painting meant to be liked, or is it just a part of life?”

His mouth twitched into a smile for the barest of moments, and Maria could immediately tell it was foreign for him to do so. Her eyes caught something too, something about the way the shadows in the well-lit room seemed to flicker and bend towards him like cloyingly sweet cats wasn’t very normal.

“Perhaps both,” the man, who seemed less and less like a man with his intense gaze which almost swallowed her, but there was nothing malevolent in it. “But since I commissioned it, and you were looking at it so intently, I thought I would like your opinion.”

“You have a deep appreciation for the arts then?” Maria asked him, feeling a smile tug her lips.

“Ah, I am many things when I fancy myself to be them,” the man told her, his voice cool and slick against her ears. “But an appreciator of human life is one of them.”

“You make it sound as if you are outside of it,” Maria pointed out to him.

“Unfortunately, I tend to be so most of the time,” the man told her with a slight bit of bitterness. “However, I’ve found myself to be very lucky today.”

“Why is that?”

“It is not often that I meet someone who can see beyond the Mist,” the man told her bluntly, his gaze turning to an intensity which made an involuntary shiver run up her spine. Recognition of what he had to be made her draw in a deep breath.

“The…Mist?”

“I was invisible to all of them, so I was surprised when I saw you looking towards me,” the man commented as if speaking of the weather. “It was a pleasant surprise, however. I believed I would never meet the artist responsible for the beautiful painting of the nymphs.”

“Can the others see you then?” Maria asked him after a moment of quiet and feeling her cheeks heating up at the confession of having been caught staring and the compliment of her painting.

“They can if I will it, and I shall allow it for now. Do not be concerned,” he promised her, waving off her concern. “However, humans see only that which they wish to see. I tend to…unnerve most humans so I normally keep concealed. You as well, I can see I’ve worried you. Forgive me for that.”

“It is not bad,” Maria promised him with a wave of her hands before beginning to almost vomit out words extremely quickly. “I just thought you were so extremely handsome and couldn’t stop myself from looking at you, also your suit is gorgeous who designed it? I have to tell my Pa—father about the designer before he meets with the representatives on Tuesday.” 

The man stared at her as if she had just begun speaking in gibberish and begun tap dancing. Laughter suddenly burst out from his lips—sharp and wild, and he immediately covered it with his hand, an action that Maria found utterly charming. He looked like a man who needed to laugh a little more.

“Forgive me, forgive me. It’s been a long time since I’ve been taken off guard,” the man told her as he regained his composure effortlessly. “What is your name?” 

“Maria di Angelo,” she introduced.

He reached out and took her free hand, cradling it in long, pale, fingers that could have belonged to any concert pianist. Even through her glove she could feel that he radiated cold that rivaled the chilly February breeze, but it was a sweet cold like dipping into the ocean on a warm summer’s day. He lifted her hand and kissed it, the butterfly touch seeped through her glove and into her skin.

“Maria, it was an absolute pleasure to make your acquaintance this evening,” he breathed her name like a compliment, and Maria couldn’t help her flattered blush. “Would you allow me to meet with you again?”

“I would,” Maria told him, and he smoothed his fingers up her glove and she felt him slip something in the cuff.

“Perhaps this Sunday,” he said gently and almost hopefully. “I’ll see you again, soon.”

And upon that note, he left, exiting the room. When it dawned on Maria she hadn’t asked his name, nor told him where she was living, she nearly burst out of the room and realized he had disappeared. She took the card he had slipped into her glove out and inspected it. The handwriting was elegant, thoughtful loops of cursive.

_Ambrosia at eleven._

* * *

Maria eagerly prepared for the meeting, not even able to eat that morning. She had her maid bring out her dresses, and agonized over the choices. Maria finally chose a royal blue which was appropriate for the winter season, trapunto embellishment upon the bodice, belted at the waist, and with skirt freshly pleated. She had her dark her softly coiffed, carefully applied make up, placed in her diamond drop earrings, and was feeling as ready as she ever could be.

She was just putting on her shoes when one of the maids rushed into her room, pale as a ghost and obviously shaken by something.

“A…a car’s here for you, Miss,” she said nervously.

Maria grasped her fur coat and purse, walking down the stairs. A black car was waiting out the front, attracting the attention of many of the passersby. A man—a servant waited outside in perfectly pressed uniform, so pale he was almost bloodless and looking very blankly towards the door. He opened the door for her, and Maria slid in.

He sat there dressed in a black suit, holding a black cane which gleamed in a way that did not seem to be wood, the handle silver. He nodded to the driver who pulled away from the curb as soon as he did. He did not smile, but he appeared relaxed...as much as he could be. He still sat with the pose of a soldier, but there was no urgency in it. 

“You look lovely, Maria,” he said quietly and meaningfully.

“Thank you, you look very handsome,” she responded. “So tell me, how did you get a table at the most expensive restaurant in Washington D.C. with only a week’s notice? The waiting list’s a month long.”

“I tend to be very persuasive,” he chuckled, the sound smooth as mulled wine.

The ride was quick, and the car pulled in front of the restaurant. He offered his hand and helped her out of the car, holding and closing the door for her. He nodded again to his driver, who took off down the street as they entered the restaurant.

“How will he know when to come back?” Maria asked him.

“He will know when I desire it,” he promised her vaguely, not offering any answers besides that. 

A waitress took their orders (only Maria’s, he waved the waitress off absently) before arriving with two drinks which looked like mimosas. Maria quickly asked her for a coffee, before grasping the suspicious drink and giving it a quick sniff. Yes, very much a mimosa, she thought. 

“I thought alcohol was illegal in this country,” Maria commented to him dryly.

“Bah,” he said, his face twisting in displeasure that was almost palatable. It was somewhat terrifying, if not a little adorable. “This country and its conservatism never ceases to amaze me in its idiocy. Why we are coming to live here in this desolate place completely devoid of actual society and culture is beyond me, but no matter. I get whatever it is I want.”

“Will I only get your name when you desire it as well?” Maria challenged him, thanking the waitress as she arrived. She took her coffee black, allowing the cup to warm her winter-chilled fingertips thoroughly. He made no move to touch his drink, instead folding his hands upon the table.

“Forgive me I forgot, I do not introduce myself that often,” he said with almost a cringe as if he was offended at his own forgetfulness and took personal offense. “I am Hades.” 

“Hades…the Greek God? Of the underworld?” Maria asked, her eyebrows shooting up in surprise. She took a sip of coffee, thinking back to the shadows in the art gallery and how stunning he looked in black. It certainly fit. “If you are Hades, then that means that you are married to Persephone.”

“Ah, I am,” Hades told her, his rigid posture only drawing up further if that was possible.

“I am not quite sure I would enjoy being the other woman,” Maria told him frankly, and he stared at her as if her bluntness took him off guard. “Also, the idea of dying is very unpleasant to me. I would rather not be struck down by your wife.” 

“I…am not asking you to be anything,” Hades assured her somewhat awkwardly, like a boy being caught sneaking into his father’s wine cabinet. “However, when I saw your painting…I was hoping to be able to speak with you more, meet with you again if I could.”

“ _The Modern Nymphs_?” Maria asked him, and Hades’ eyes soften. The food was served, and Maria went about cutting her fried egg. Hades looked pleased that she was eating, even if he did not eat himself.

“It was sensational, your use of light and shadow was so atmospheric and romantic,” he said and the way he spoke of her painting made her shiver. Again there was that spark in his eyes, something ingenious and sensitive. “The contrast between the modernity of the park and the nymphs was beautiful. I bought it from the collector you know, you shall be getting that check rather soon.”

“You did?” She asked, shocked before feeling her lips pull up into a wide smile. “Thank you so much. I’m happy to know that I have enough skill to please a god, even if I don’t believe I deserve it.”

“Nonsense,” Hades told her, eyes gleaming with something Maria could not quite name.

“I have been able to see through what you called the Mist for all of my life,” Maria told him firmly. “There is not much which is able to surprise me anymore. A god liking my paintings is one of those things.”

“It is the fact…how do I explain it? Ah, how about this? What is it that you enjoy the most about painting?” Hades asked her, leaning in. His eyes as dark as liquid night, with no distinguishing between iris and pupil were completely focused. It was as if her answer was to him the most interesting thing in the world could offer him. 

“If I have to put words to it…” Maria murmured, taking another thoughtful sip of coffee. “Art is about representing life as the artist sees it as an individual. By painting, in some way, I can allow others to see the beauty I see. That makes me happier than I should be.”

Hades reached out to catch her hand once more, the coolness of his skin against hers, made her fingers tremble from more than the cold.

“It is for that reason, for the fact that these hands can produce such wonders, that I am pleased. With you offering such skill unto honoring the world with beauty, I would be crazy not to be pleased,” Hades said sweetly and gently. “It is that heartfelt feeling that comes across in your work, and it is that which touched me.”

“Would you have me paint for you?” Maria asked him seriously. “Would you have me dedicate my works to you as patron?”

“I am so greedy that I should wish for your art to bless the halls of my palace alone, but also desire to show it to the whole world,” Hades informed her before his words spilled out seductively and simmered with promise, as if the whole world was at his fingertips and all he had to do was grasp it. “I would make it be, if you asked. Your paintings within the most esteemed museums in the world, the whole world knowing of your talent.”

“I already am so blessed that I wouldn’t wish that,” Maria told him honestly. “Painting is a selfish endeavor for me.” 

“Then what would you desire?” Hades asked her seriously.

“I would be happy to paint a picture for you,” Maria explained before giving a smile of her own. “If it would make you happy, I would do it.”

“Why?” Hades asked, his brow drawn together in confusion.

“Because you seem to be a man who needs a little more happiness in his life,” Maria explained, squeezing his fingers in hers.

* * *

She returned to Venice in early March of 1929, and Mussolini’s Fascist party had taken over all of the Italian Senate. Not that the election actually mattered, Mussolini had essentially dismantled all restraints of his power and made the party the sole legal party in the country. On the eve after the vote, Maria entered her father’s study, watching him desperately mop his face with a silk handkerchief. He had just gotten home from Rome.

“Mussolini is keeping me on as ambassador,” her father explained tensely, Maria called for the maid to bring some wine.

“What is wrong, Papa?” Maria asked of him, uncorking the bottle and pouring some for him. Her father swirl the red wine, taking an appreciative whiff that was seemingly all instinct and little pleasure.

“You should hear the ridiculous claims the Fascists are making at the embassy—it is for the best you do not. Insanity, all of it insanity,” her father said before giving an ironic toast, “here’s to democracy.”

Her father drank the whole glass in one swig, as if trying to wash the taste of heresy out of his mouth. For all her father’s diplomacy, she supposed even he had a rational limit.

“I heard your painting sold for a hefty sum, Maria,” her father said, desperately trying to change the topic as Maria poured herself her own glass and gave her father a second one. “I will miss it, it was quite beautiful.”

“It was sold to a private collector,” Maria told him effortlessly. “He is commissioning a painting from me.”

“He must have really loved your painting then,” her father said before raising his dark eyebrows, “or be in love with you.”

“Papa,” Maria groaned.

“Who is this man?” Her father asked curiously.

“All I know is that he’s an extremely rich businessman,” Maria lied with a sip of wine. “A businessman who appreciated my painting and wishes for me to paint another for him.”

“Ah, a mysterious anonymous suitor than,” her father chuckled. “Did he give you any theme, or any request?”

“He will apparently allow me to paint him whatever I wish,” Maria told her father. “I have some time to think on it, thankfully. Six months. He told me he would write.” 

“That is wonderful, Maria, absolutely wonderful,” her father said, sounding heartbreakingly proud. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Papa,” Maria told him walking over to give him a kiss on the cheek. She left the bottle of wine with him and took her own glass. Her personal maid stood waiting in the hall, her eyes full of mischief and giving her a sweet smile.

“Miss, you must have had a grand time in New York,” she giggled conspiratorially.

“Oh shush, Bianca,” Maria laughed with her, and Bianca looped her arm through Maria’s. “You look good, I’m so glad you are feeling better.”

“Not being nine months pregnant does wonders. My little one is fabulous, I cannot wait until you meet him,” Bianca told her as they spun together through the hallway. “So tell me, was he handsome? Was he charming?”

“Oh he was both,” Maria told her with a dreamy sigh as she remembered Hades’ face, the beautiful darkness of his eyes. “The most gorgeous man you’d ever seen; tall, dark, and handsome and wearing a suit that would make Papa cry. He took me to the most luxurious restaurant in the city, held all the doors open, he was an impeccable gentleman.”

“So why did you not come back home with this handsome American husband of yours?” Bianca asked her as she stood on the top step.

“Because my handsome American husband happens to already be married,” Maria told her with a wry smile and resting against the railing.

“Maria!” Bianca gasped obviously scandalized.

“Oh, nothing happened Bianca,” Maria told her as she waved off her concern. “I’m just going to be making a painting for him, don’t fret.”

“Alright, as long as you are sure,” Bianca said giving Maria a sidelong glance.

For some reason, Maria got the feeling that neither of them really believed that.

Her days from then on were punctuated by Venice high society and her work on the painting. Spring melded into summer, oil spread across canvas taking on further shape and shades. Bianca would sit with her sometimes, help her wash her hands and stained fingertips every few nights when the oils had dried enough to continue, bring her food and drink and force her to take breaks. Every time she began to paint, it would possess her, if she closed her eyes she could almost feel cool fingers guiding her.

The first letter came in early May. Bianca brought it to her, and Maria immediately understood the confusion as she perched up on her stool. There was no address, only her name written upon the front in a familiar meticulous scrawl and a stamp from a Hermes Overnight Express. She was surprised to see Italian, but his Italian was perfect. (She hadn’t asked what sort of languages gods spoke, but she would have to make it a point to ask him.)

The letter was businesslike in nature. Asking how she was doing, the status of her painting, and if her travels back to Venice were safe. However she could see the dots where his pen had rested too long and had stained ink. He instructed her, if she wished to write in return, just to write his name on the envelope and mark it to Hermes Overnight Express with the coin he had enclosed. At this point Maria was extremely intrigued. In her letter she responded in kind, saying she had an easy travel and was doing well. She couldn’t help but ask if the coin he had given her was actual gold and some sort of currency, and if the Hermes Overnight Express actually had the god running it and if so how did a god get into postal work? That seemed somewhat too normal for a god. She also made sure to sign her name with sincerely, and begin his letter with dear. His response was adorable as Hades explained down to the finest detail how Hermes got around to starting the Express and the way it operated as well as the process of making drachmas from the gold harvested from his kingdom.

The letters became a normal occurrence. She learned he preferred Chopin to Mozart, and she confessed her love affair with going to museums. She sent him sketches of anything that caught her eye from bakers to housecats to the way raindrops shimmered off the window sill, and he enclosed lines of beautifully rendered poetry. Nothing was particularly off limits in their conversation, from the significance of violence and bodies within Saint’s portraits, to the particulars of scholarly articles Hades was a man who truly did seem to have an interest in everything and Maria couldn’t help but find that fascinating. She tended not to ask about his duties, since she got the sense that his work consumed most of his life. But Maria couldn’t help but ask about how the world around them worked, and Hades obliged her when he could. (He had no difficulties describing the various histories of any hero she asked him of, but wouldn’t answer her about the existence of God and was very annoyed with Jesus Christ’s problem which was as he put it; staying dead for good like he should have in the first place.)

The summer continued on in full swing, and she continued to paint. Her father was often out of the house on business, the sort of business that only occurred with the strained relations that were tightening all around the world. The servants kept the radio on, and Maria didn’t have them turn it off. The high society of Italy did what they did best, ignore the happenings and threw parties. Maria attended when she was expected, danced with men, gossiped with ladies, but as she did Maria almost always found herself composing letters in her mind.

In early September, just after her father left for D.C., Hades’ letter made her aware that he would come to visit her in order to see the progress of her painting. By the time the autumn the tourists and sightseers who crowded Venice up to the gills had dissipated, the winter fog rolled in thick and cold. The floating city was haunted by a quiet which was only broken by the tolls of church bells. Land and water seemed to meld, time collected like puddles, and Maria had never been so glad for it all before. 

“He should have planned to come in the summer,” Bianca told Maria as she drew open the curtains to the French doors which led to the balcony reveal the pearly light of a cloudy November morning, pigeons flew by in a sudden flutter of movement.

“I’m sure Venice in the summer would not suit him well,” Maria said sweetly, she turned her gaze to the canvas which faced the wall. “I hope he likes it.”

“It is shaping to be your finest piece,” Bianca promised her with a kiss on the cheek. 

“Miss, a car has just arrived,” the head butler called.

“Have him come up,” Maria told him as she settled herself at the table by the French doors. “Bianca, if I need anything I shall let you know.”

“Yes, Miss,” Bianca told her with a curtsy before leaving her.

She heard him enter, and heard him ghost across the room. His fingers drifted across her shoulders, fingertips dancing and slipping to the skin of her neck. She felt the coolness of a clasp and weight against the back of her neck and her chest. She opened her eyes and gasped at the reflection in the mirror, a circlet of handcrafted flowers made from white gold, teardrop diamonds, pink sapphire, and pearls. He slid, to grasp her hand and kiss it.

“A small token of appreciation,” Hades promised her his voice dark as sin his Italian flowing over his lips in perfect accent, and she was unable to stop her trembling. She had dreamt of those dark eyes, his sharp jaw, and the curve of his shoulders for so long that seeing him in person was almost too much.

“It’s beautiful, too much I—“ Maria tried to say, feeling suddenly very self-conscious. “I’m not sure my painting is good enough to warrant this.”

“It is for more than just the painting,” Hades said, his eyes sliding to where the painting stood facing the wall before returning to her with a gentle look. Maria knew immediately what he meant, but did not push him.

“I’ll treasure it,” Maria promised him with a smile, before nearly hopping up from her seat, she spun on her heel, feeling her skirts lift at the movement as she approached the painting. “Would you like to see it? It’s an oil on canvas so it needs many more layers before it can be considered even remotely done.”

Hades nodded eagerly before suddenly blinking in utter surprise. The gentleman on the terrace seating facing away and into the luminous fog, dressed in black suit and holding the silver cane, a bouquet of vibrant roses upon the spindle-esque table, a dark river swirling before him which was flitted with sirens. He stood approaching the painting, before looking towards her with an expression of wonder.

“Currently I am calling it, _The Lord of the Dead_ ,” Maria explained, clasping her hands in front of her in order to keep from nervously twitching.

“You imagined the river Styx in Venice?” Hades asked, his delight very obvious. “Maria, it’s wonderful.”

“It still needs plenty of work, but I’m glad you like it so far,” Maria said honestly. 

“Now I am the one who believes they haven’t done enough, and I am a God who always repays his debts,” Hades told her firmly. “Tell me, Maria, do you have plans for tonight?”

“No, I don’t,” Maria said somewhat taken aback. 

“Come out with me tonight,” Hades asked her, taking her hand and pulling her close. “I’ll take you to the finest restaurants, to the opera, anywhere you wish to go.” 

“Anywhere?” Maria dared before giving a mischievous smile and nearly spinning away. “I don’t have anything to wear, how could we even get in—“

“Anything you need, I shall get for you,” Hades promised her, meeting her step with hers in a well-timed dance. “Anywhere you wish to go, I would make it happen.”

“Because anything you want, you get?” Maria asked him with a laugh that was warm and bubbling off her lips. 

“Or something of that nature,” Hades said with something that might have been a smile in return, his arms were around her in a loose embrace that felt so good that she wished to just sink into it.

“I can tell you are not an Italian man, Hades,” Maria told him resisting the temptation of staying in his arms and stepping out of his grasp effortlessly. “An Italian man knows that one does not need so much in order to impress a lady.”

“Then what would you have tonight?” Hades asked her curiously.

“Take me to dinner somewhere quiet that serves good wine. We can split the bottle,” Maria told him as she lifted her hand to smooth a stray wrinkle in his suit. “And I can tell you of all the things I didn’t write about in my letters, and you can tell me of all the glorious things in the world I don’t yet know about. Then, you can kiss my hand goodnight. And another day you can come as well, and then another for as long as you can.”

“And I cannot give you anything else?” Hades asked, his finger curled beneath her chin. 

“You are already married,” Maria reminded him gently as she touched his wrist, and his eyes softened. He leaned down to kiss her cheek like the gentlest touch of breeze, his hand running through her hair and to the clasp of the necklace he had given her. 

Even good wine could not rid of that certain bittersweet taste.

* * *

They spent winter together ducking between cafes, theater, and winding submerged streets. He sat with her as she painted or when she sketched, and they spoke over candlelight and fireplaces. They visited Rome, Milan, and Naples. He showed her the secrets of world that she had never known before through the arts or the mysterious beasts or the secret passageways, and she led him to all the little nooks she knew. They danced together upon empty terraces that sparkled with snow and lamplight, he carried her as the streets flooded with the winter storms unbothered by the ice or water up to his knees and ruining one of his beautiful suits.

They never spoke about what would happen when spring would arrive. Maria spent the winter trying to forget spring.

“He should leave his wife for you if he is so in love with you,” Bianca told her once as she combed her hair.

“That’s hardly a pious thing to say,” Maria noted sarcastically.

“I’m not Catholic, remember?” Bianca told her with a wave. “I get the feeling that he is not either.”

“He loves her too much,” Maria told her quietly, clenching the porcelain of her bathtub. “Their relationship…I would never wish to breach it. And he would never separate from her, not when they can be together.”

“You do everything but kiss him,” Bianca told her flatly. “You cannot say he is not already cheating on her with you.”

“I think it would make it real if he did,” Maria explained before sighing and sinking deeper into her tub, curling her knees beneath her chin. “I do not mind though.” 

“Yes, yes you do,” Bianca told her dumping water over her head. 

Maria did not argue with her.

In late February he came to her in the night, sitting by the fireplace in the lounge. The light caught his dark eyes, the glass of whiskey which he had poured himself. His tie was off, as was his jacket, and he lounged in the seat. Maria sat beside him, sipping expresso and curling herself further into her quilt and sweater. He finished the whiskey, placed the glass upon the coffee table before giving her a look that said everything that it needed too.

“Will you write?” Maria asked him softly, lifting her gaze from her cup.

“As much as I can, but since Persephone is returning I may be a little late,” Hades told her, sounding melancholy but his eyes soft with love that made Maria burn with jealousy. Not that she could talk, Hades was the one who was married and she was the interloper. But she couldn’t help the way her heart squeezed. 

“I will miss seeing you,” Maria admitted brokenly as she stood up. “I shall have the painting ready by the next winter for certain—“

“Maria,” Hades interrupted her, cupping her face in his hands. “Maria.”

“I will miss you,” Maria admitted feeling her heart truly fall. “When I am with you, the whole world is so beautiful.”

“And I you,” Hades promised his gaze flashing with a deep, almost manic passion which flared within the darkness. “More than you know, Maria. I shall miss you.” 

“Come back, please?” Maria asked him.

“I shall,” Hades promised her.

He leaned down. Maria prayed, against all hope and reason that he should kiss her then. She ached for his kiss, desired for it above all things. His lips pressed to her forehead, sending chills through her body. Hades pulled away, lingering for a moment longer than he should his eyes fluttering as if he were shocked by something.

In the next moment he was gone, a warming breeze following after him into the night.

* * *

“There is no news,” the radio told them all on a sunny day in the spring, as if the whole world had taken its’ final full breath. 

If only that could have been true forever, Maria would often think.


	2. If I Didn't Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And I cannot give you anything else?” Hades asked, his finger curled beneath her chin.  
> “You are already married,” Maria reminded him gently as she touched his wrist, and his eyes softened. He leaned down to kiss her cheek like the gentlest touch of breeze, his hand running through her hair and to the clasp of the necklace he had given her.
> 
> Maria di Angelo, daughter of an Italian ambassador and painter, meets Hades, the lord of the dead, and begins a long-term affair with him. However with World War 2 on the horizon and the people she loves in danger, Maria has to grapple with choices that pit her against her greatest love with more than just love on the line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this fic is something that I’ve apparently needed to work on in little bursts, but I haven’t forgotten it! I swear! In case anyone’s forgotten, The Eleventh Year is a fic surrounding Hades and Maria’s relationship, where I attempt to explain things like, why did Maria stay in Italy as long as she did? Why does Maria dislike Zeus so much? Why didn’t Persephone turn her into a daffodil and squash her? What kinda lady does Hades like? And other burning questions surrounding Bianca and Nico's childhood. Enjoy!

_The Lord of The Dead_ made a special debut at a small gallery in Venice in the summer of 1930. Maria was supremely proud of her work, she accepted the compliments of many of her colleagues, and sported the usual invitations for the summer months. However after the limited time within the gallery, Maria watched from her balcony as her precious painting was loaded up into a car which Maria swore was driven by one of Hades’ bloodless men. She curled her toes around the edge of her chair, resting her cheek against the table as she heavily sighed.

“Maria, your sighs could shake the trees,” Bianca told her with a gentle smile, filling up the wine glass on the table. “Is it because of the letters?”

“It is strange,” Maria cried as she cut herself a piece of cheese from the platter in front of her, in her frustration stabbing the slab with the paring knife. “His letters before, they were so passionate! Now I barely get a response, it’s just—leave me here to die.”

“Why do you not ask those golems that he employs?” Bianca scoffed before shuddering and rubbing her own arms. “Perhaps they could tell you what is wrong.”

“Golem…?” Maria asked curiously.

“There’s an old legend that rabbis can make creatures from mud and command them. That’s what that man does, except he seems to find the dullest men on the Earth. I mean, Maria, you didn’t have to work beside them. It felt like their brains had come out their ears! It was unnatural is all I’m saying.”

“Thankfully I didn’t,” Maria conceded with a secret grin before popping another grape into her mouth and resting her chin on her hands, not sure that she would wish to break it to Bianca that indeed some of the men may not have had functioning brains. “What do you think, Bianca? Is it me do you think? Am I the reason he won’t respond to my letters?”

“It could never be you, Maria,” Bianca promised with her hands on her hips. “Perhaps he remembered he does indeed have a wife, unlike someone I know who keeps forgetting.”

“Bianca you wound me,” Maria groaned, her head finding its way into her hands. “I’ve never forgotten that—oh, if only I could forget it!” 

“I just do not wish for you to get hurt,” Bianca told her worriedly.

“I wish I could be upset, but his stubbornness is endearing to me,” Maria cried plaintively before crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. “I always seem too get myself into these messes don’t I?”

“But it is that stubbornness that is endearing about you,” Bianca reminded her. “If he does not want to be with you, that is his loss Maria. You must remember this. You are the most eligible bachelorette in all of Italy. There will be better men, more handsome men, men with more money, and all of their heart to give to you. You just must be patient.”

“Patience was never a facet of my personality,” Maria could help but say, laughing as Bianca leaned over to give her cheek a good-natured tug. “Just like how sharing never sat well with me.” 

“Oh trust me, Maria, I know.”

And so June continued on in a heady daze. Maria supposed she could have followed her father to the United States, but felt no desire to travel anywhere. She found herself wandering aimlessly from party to party upon one man’s arm or another’s just to get an echo of a thrill. But after finding no man would suffice, found herself more often than not with bitterness upon her tongue. It was as if she were simply an outline of her former self, made up of mist and essence with barely anything to hold her together. She should have seen it coming from a mile away, truly. Hades must have gone home to the underworld to his wife, and remembered what made the difference between a goddess and a woman. How could she ever even think for a moment that perhaps she could compare? In the end, Maria must have been a fleeting thought and fancy. But even so, she had to be true to herself. And she could no longer take the murky existence between heartbreak and love that she had been immersed in. She would rather take the leap then stay still than any day.

And so Maria decided to end it on her own, the contents of her heart sealed and sent by letter. And for a moment she let herself dwell on a good bottle of wine and her failed love affair.

* * *

Maria lounged upon her chez a few days after she had sent her letter. She felt light, as if a great weight had been lifted off her chest. She had gone and bought a few nice things to add to her wardrobe, sent their family’s sommelier to get the nicest sweet wines he could get his hands on, and indulged on expensive paints which she used to paint. She had felt more inspired than she had in a while, and was finally able to put thoughts to paper where there hadn’t been any ability too before.

She stretched, her only covering a simple silk chemise, feeling the night breeze brush coolly and sweetly against her skin. The curtain fluttered as the air across the water brought the only movement and solace to the heat of the night that stilled and only served to seep energy and willingness out of her limbs.

“Maria, will you not come to bed?” Bianca tutted and Maria gave her a half-smile.

“My love, would you pour me some more moscato if it’s still chilled?” Maria bid her, looking at the ice and wine bottle, and holding out her woefully empty glass. Bianca rolled her eyes and took the glass from her fingers before filling and handing it back. Maria couldn’t help sweeping the condensation from the glass and dabbing the back of her neck.

“Are you going to sleep here then?” Bianca asked, sounding amused as she gathered the empty tray.

“An utterly lovely idea, isn’t it? At least it isn’t so dreadfully hot,” Maria sighed as she stretched and sipped on her wine. “Don’t worry about me, Bianca. You may go home for the night. Give Giovanni a kiss for me.”

“Very well, goodnight Miss,” Bianca wished with a curtsy, before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.

Maria, now bored and alone, rested her head against the window sill for a moment. Venice was still busting with lovers walking slowly and languidly over bridges soaked in moonlight, people emptying opera houses, going home for days at work, or restaurants. She supposed she could be among them if she decided it. Any man she called on would be happy to appear on her arm, and any lady of the city would clear her schedule to have Maria di Angelo show up by her side. But at that time, she felt oddly detached from that.

For a while she sat, draining her glass and looking out over the glistening city. Finally restlessness drew her up and walked to her vanity table. She opened the drawer and pulled out the box which contained the fantastic necklace Hades had given to her. She hadn’t quite figured out how or if she could part with it. And for a moment she traced the jewels and sculpted golden flowers. In a moment of fancy, she put it on, allowing herself to remember the sensation of cool fingers against her skin. A shiver arose unbidden and made her squeeze her eyes shut for a moment, only to open them and reveal how strange that beautiful necklace looked paired with her cream colored chemise and hair pulled up in a bun. But the necklace felt so comforting that she kept it on just to savor that feeling.

And for a moment she felt the breeze upon her back, the curtains flapped, and then she knew she was no longer alone.

She spied him in her reflection upon the vanity mirror, by the balcony. He was still dressed in one of his perfect suits, however he looked uncharacteristically ruffled and perturbed. His expression was as dark as a rolling storm. She took a moment to breathe and gather her thoughts, before turning to face him.

“I suppose you are here for a good reason,” Maria observed neutrally, running her fingers once more over the necklace, allowing him take in the sight of her but not giving him anything else.

“ _Maria_ ,” Hades said breathlessly—suddenly a man drowning. His expression twisted in discomfort, obviously just as surprised at the tone of his voice as she was.

“What is it, Hades?” Maria asked him quietly. He began to pace, his steps frantic as a wild caged animal, but he stayed far away. And Maria watched him patiently, allowing him the time to form thoughts that were difficult for him to voice allowed.

“It was not meant to be like this,” Hades said sharply and angrily but obviously not towards her. “It was your paintings—the conversation. I enjoyed it so thoroughly, enjoyed your company. And Persephone she loves that painting and I went home to her every time but now she isn’t there and—“

Hades made a noise of annoyance that was torn out of the back of his throat. He scrubbed at his face in frustration as he continued to walk back and forth. Maria could not help but feel warmth blossoming in her chest, as she couldn’t help but find his awkwardness endearing.

“I want to give you the ability to do what’s best for you, but I cannot pine after you forever. That is simply not who I am. I didn’t wish to back you into a corner, but I am only a human. I can’t wait for you forever,” Maria told him firmly as she stood up. She crossed the space between them to stand before him.

“I love my wife,” Hades said, and for a moment she thought he was break into a howl of agony.

“I know,” Maria said with a sorrowful smile. “But do you love me too?” 

“Everything mortal that I touch comes to ruin, that is my nature Maria,” Hades told her, reaching to held her face in his hands but stilling before skin could touch skin. “Spurn me, please. Before I bring this upon you, my love will end up hurting you.”

“No,” Maria told him grasping his wrist and touching her cheek. “That would be too easy for you. I love you, Hades. If you are not willing to love me in return, then that is fine. But I will not run from you, I am not that kind of woman.”

Hades cupped her cheeks before meeting her lips with his.

* * *

That night they melted into each other. He was unmade in her arms, and she discovered the secrets of her body which she had never been privy too. For that night Hades was hers, even if she could never dare to claim a god. But in that moment she felt as if that didn’t matter, in that moment it was enough.

* * *

Maria teasingly took the cigar from Hades’ mouth and puffed, keeping the smoke in her mouth before exhaling it into a circle. Hades chuckled as he kissed Maria’s shoulder and she continued to balance the cigar between his fingers.

“I had no idea that gods fancied Cuban cigars,” Maria commented.

“There are somethings that humans make I don’t mind consuming,” Hades explained, leaning over to kiss Maria’s neck. The coolness of his lips made Maria shiver in an entirely pleasant manner. “I’ve never seen you smoke.”

“I don’t particularly like it,” Maria said with a shrug. “I do it for fashion so people won’t bother me about it at parties. Also my father taught me how to make circles which is entertaining.”

“I promise that your dislike is for the best,” Hades promised her as Maria offered the cigar back and he took it between his teeth.

“Why? Don’t you find it attractive when a woman smokes? Is that something I should be asking all your other lovers?” Maria asked with a stretch of her arms in front of her, allowing the sheets to dip to her lower back as she reached to grasp her glass. She swirled the wine in her mouth for a moment to rid the taste before swallowing with a wince. 

“That’s hardly a concern of mine,” Hades explained. “Unlike my brothers, I find the external elements of women to be my least concern. Let me just say that humans are going to get a rude awakening on the subject in a few years.” 

“For future reference, I don’t mind if you smoke after, but not when we are kissing. I dislike the taste of it on my teeth,” Maria told him.

“And is this something you are discovering?”

“No, you can ask all my lovers I can be very particular,” Maria told him with a shrug as she sat up and grasped a pin to pull her hair up with.

“Other lovers?” Hades asked with a not-so-well-concealed twitch of his eyebrow. Maria felt her mouth beginning to stretch into a grin.

“Are you curious?” Maria asked him as she slid on her robe, letting it hang off her shoulder just so. “Do you really want to know?”

“I don’t know how to deal with you, Maria di Angelo,” Hades said as he reclined on the bed with a shake of his head and a small smile of his own.

“I’m sure most people who know me would agree with you,” Maria told him not without sympathy as she tied her robe more firmly. “But in case you are truly that curious, I haven’t taken any lovers since I’ve met you. I have happened to enjoy men’s company, it is true I won’t deny it, but I’m currently and completely enthralled with you. And that is enough for me. Does that bother you?” 

“I would not ask more from you then I have to offer, so no,” Hades told her, looking at her with eyes half-lidded. She had never seen him so relaxed, so warmed, as if the act of their lovemaking had made him tender. “I happen to be very enthralled with you as well.” 

“Then perhaps now we shall be able to go on without any more miscommunication.”

“Yes, that would be good,” Hades said, reaching out to catch her wrist and kiss it.

“I am going to call a maid and get something to eat. I have a function to go to—” Maria said as she stretched her legs out over the edge of the bed. Hades’ arms curled around her waist, his mouth pressed to her temple.

“Forget that,” Hades murmured. “There are so many more pleasurable things we could be doing.”

“I need to eat, I am a human,” Maria reminded him, letting him kiss her neck more adamantly. “And my Pa—father relies on me for these sorts of things. Even though it is very cute when you are being adamant.”

“You are aware that most creatures that crawl upon the earth tremble before my very name correct?” Hades asked her giving her a sideways look that wasn’t threatening as much as it was impressed, Maria crossed her arms and tapped her finger upon her forearm in thought.

“Yes, but the dark and scary thing that you do is rather endearing to me. And staying in bed all day sounds nice in fantasy but I have things I need to do,” Maria told him bluntly as she turned to face him. Hades just shook his head with a weary half-smile.

“Need to do or want to do?”

“I want to do them. And I like to do what I want.”

“Like go to the art function?” Hades sighed.

“Exactly. Painting is my hobby and my passion. Aristotle once said that art is the natural expression of a human’s love of imitation. As a human I can only imitate perfection and the true standards through art and—“ 

“Yes, I understand. There is no getting between Maria and the things she is fixated upon,” Hades said with a fond chuckle. 

“I am not fixated on things,” Maria said, unable to help her pout.

“Only what you like.”

“Exactly!”

“Call up your maid and get your food,” Hades told her as he lay back down sounding characteristically grumpy.

“You’re sulking,” Maria giggled, giving him a fond poke on the cheek. “You can come with me.”

“Joy, interacting with people,” Hades said with a sigh. “Fine, I’ll come.”

Maria hid her wide smile under her hand, as she walked to the door to call a servant.

The rest of the summer of 1930 was spent in what felt like a dream. Maria traveled with Hades, traversing across Europe with no hurried pace. They went to the best museums, ate in the greatest restaurants, and rested in the best hotels. Days were spent exploring, and Maria spent her nights having been undone like the stars. There was nothing that Hades would deny her, and there was nothing that Maria asked for beyond what Hades gave to her. Their coupling was passionate, frequent, and understanding. There was never enough time, it seemed. The chill settled into the air unwelcomed. He lingered, visiting weeks apart, until in January he said he couldn’t come back until spring.

“I don’t wish you to go,” Maria said as she pressed his lips to his neck, her arms wrapped around him. He pulled her closer, sighing sweetly, puffing cool against her skin which made her shiver with longing.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep,” Hades promised, kissing the top of her forehead.

She did not wish to sleep, she wished to lay in his arms forever. But Maria fell asleep, dreamed of nothing, and awoke in the morning with the spot next to her in bed empty.

“It’s too cruel,” Maria whispered, tears stinging her eyes.

No one cared to respond.

* * *

Maria was sitting at a trattoria in February when suddenly a woman sat across from her. She was the most beautiful woman that Maria had ever seen, even though most of her face was obscured by her hat. Her face was elegantly proportioned, her curls white-gold, her lips bright red. She dressed in a beautiful grey dress with Grecian lines, a jacket that seemed to be made of gray fur. Her fingers were covered by suede gloves, but upon one was an opal ring.

Maria was so startled at the woman’s sudden appearance that she didn’t even react as the woman snapped her fingers, and suddenly a waiter was bringing her a coffee. She didn’t touch it.

“So, you are Maria I’m assuming,” the not-woman said, sounding bored. Maria felt as though someone had just dumped cold water over her head. And she remained frozen as the not-woman reached out with gloved hands to touch her chin, smooth the pattern of her jaw. Maria wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Because her eyes were so beautiful and terrifying, the color of the December sun. “I hate to admit it, but I understand why he finds you attractive. You have aristocratic features, I think he has a thing for the Princesses.”

“Lady Persephone,” Maria whispered, her voice barely more than breath and tone. Persephone released Maria from her touch, and Maria immediately clenched the arms of her chair.

“Come with me,” Persephone said, and Maria was helpless but to follow her. They walked at an unrushed pace, Persephone seemingly taking in the misty Venice day.

“You must understand something and understand it clearly,” Persephone said as she eyed Maria as she broke the silence. Her eyes were pitch black. “I love my husband.”

“I know…he loves you as well,” Maria pointed out, feeling faint, and not quite comprehending that the wife of the man she was having an affair with was walking next to her and she was a goddess and Maria was somehow not a newt yet.

“Ah, yes, of course. Hades loves me, that was never called into question. Hades loves me, and I am his wife. Granted we don’t have a perfect relationship, I mean, what married couple doesn’t have its spats? It’s…unfortunate episodes. My mother can be overbearing, he can become frustrated with our special arrangement, I can become angry with his inability to forgive and forget, he can accidentally vaporize my garden when he loses his temper. Do you even understand how many times we’ve had to go to Hera for marriage counselling over scorched daffodils? So yes, I admit it freely, our marriage isn’t perfect, I am well aware, but we put effort into our relationship. That’s what counts,” Persephone said as she smoothed out the skirt of her dress.

“I see,” Maria said, trying to swallow but finding her mouth dry as bone.

“I am very understanding, you see,” Persephone said sounding anything but understanding. “He becomes lonely, frustrated, he misses me so much when I am with my mother. Every couple of centuries it grows too much for him to bear. He has his…indiscretions. I am not innocent of them either. It happens. But this is not that, and I believe we both know that. And you ought to give me one good reason why I shouldn’t turn you into a dandelion and leave you for the gardeners.”

“You just said you forgive Hades,” Maria pointed out, probably despite her best interest. Persephone’s eyes were suddenly inflamed with a cold fire that Maria could feel radiate onto her skin.

“Do you think I am dumb? My husband isn’t like that idiot giant ball of hot air or that vain narcissistic epicurean bitch! Hades doesn’t trapeze around Europe just for some…some woman who he thinks cuts a slimming figure in black!” Persephone snapped.

Persephone grabbed her arm, her hand scalding Maria like a hot iron, hard and angry and ready to hurt. Maria cried out because she was going to be killed—

And something inside of Maria, deep in her hollow, responded. 

All of the color in Persephone’s face and the cold fire in her eyes drained away in an instant. She released Maria, and Maria’s legs gave out. She was suddenly on the ground, her arms wrapped around her belly. They were both staring at each other at a complete loss for words, and somehow that scared Maria more than she had been before.

Maria wouldn’t be able to explain how she got home, out of her mind, stumbling over her feet, and with her fingers shaking too much to be able to open the door. But she did, and later she found herself crumpled on the floor of the bathroom, her cheek crusted with her own tears.

* * *

“Oh Maria,” Bianca said as she took one look at Maria, and Bianca knew just as clearly as Maria did as she sat leaning against the porcelain of the claw foot tub, trying to soothe the fever she felt wash into her skin.

“Papa is going to kill me,” Maria said with a laugh that hurt, as she tried to rub her eyes but mascara dripped down her cheeks.

“I’m going to kill that—that man!” Bianca snapped before turning towards Maria and leaning down after she had wetted a cloth that she rubbed against Maria’s cheek. “And I’m going to kill you! What were you thinking? No, no you weren’t thinking and that is the problem!”

Maria flinched, but she knew she deserved it. But she was still surprised when suddenly Bianca grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug. Maria hugged her back just as tightly, feeling waves of distress crash over her. 

“How am I going to tell him?” Maria asked Bianca. “I didn’t think…”

“Maria, what did you think was going to happen?” Bianca asked plainly and Maria wanted more than anything to explain that the man she was seeing was a death god so she had assumed that perhaps it wouldn’t work that way but apparently it did. But of course, out of context, that wouldn’t make any sense. In context it barely made any sense.

“I need to tell him, if his wife hasn’t told him already,” Maria muttered under her breath. “Oh what am I going to do?”

“Well, you need to tell him anyways. Might as well get it over with,” Bianca said as she pulled back.

“Fetch some paper please?”

And so Maria wrote the most anxiously written letter of her life and sent it to Hades, hoping desperately somehow that he would get it before Persephone told him. She spent two days in bed, lethargic and ill. The house itself seemed to wait with baited breath, the servants spoke barely above whispers, and she spent her moments waiting in horrible anticipation. That was until Maria awoke to the sound of crashing and screaming. Maria rushed down the stairs, only to find chaos.

“Get out of my house!” Bianca’s voice was angry and hot. Bianca was swinging a broom, two of the male servants were holding her back from attacking Hades who seemed to be regarding the whole spectacle with various amounts of confusion.

“Bianca,” Maria called. Bianca froze, and a very perturbed looking Hades stood at the threshold. “Come upstairs, we have business to attend to.”

Maria touched Bianca’s shoulder, before walking upstairs, letting Hades into her room and closing the door behind her. Hades stood looking vaguely terrified. She leaned against the door heavily, locking it with a twist of her wrist, as she pressed her forehead to the wood and collected her thoughts. Ready for a confrontation, she turned around and leaned her back against it for stability.

“Did she tell you?” Maria couldn’t help but ask.

“Persephone wasn’t pleased,” Hades conceded slowly, his eyes scanning the room as if he was worried she would appear, “but that wasn’t my concern.” 

“What was your concern?” Maria asked of him, pulling away from the door and pulling her bathrobe on for warmth.

“You, of course,” Hades said softly.

“Are you angry?” Maria whispered, hugging herself and rubbing her arms.

“Why would I be angry?” Hades asked back, somberly, for a moment it looked as if he would reach out to her, but he pulled his hand back.

“Did you know this…might happen?”

“Just as well as any mortal man,” Hades said as he kept his hands at his side, opal ring on his finger glinting in the pearly winter sunlight. 

“Do you have any other…children?”

“Two by Persephone…two demigods right now,” Hades admitted. “But I met their mothers before you, and though I try to keep tabs on my children, you are the only mortal woman I have continually seen.”

“Demigods?” Maria croaked.

“Children born of a mortal and a god…that is…if you choose to bear this child. I will not lie to you, my children have often difficult lives. Monsters will come for them, and being my offspring, they will have no place in Olympus,” Hades said bitterly, his face twisting into something on the border of hatred and despair. “My children are often unable to bear that fate.”

“…do you love me?”

“Yes, I do Maria.”

“And I love you, and I…I want to have this child. Isn’t it funny? I have always wanted to be a mother, but I never quite imagined in like this,” Maria said with a tearful laugh. “But you must promise to protect us. I…I am strong, I will do my best to protect this little one, but you must promise to protect us as well.”

Hades sunk on one knee before her, took her hand, and kissed it with cool gentle lips.

“I swear.”


End file.
